


Flowers Distilled

by alcoholandregret



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, is the general concept of the constant passage of time a vaild theme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:12:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13264416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alcoholandregret/pseuds/alcoholandregret
Summary: He starts to realise he may or may not have a problem around the holidays, because, like, everything about where he is now has been his dream for pretty much forever - the NHL, the Toronto Maple Leafs specifically, his hometown team finally finding moderate success again - all of it, but all he can think about is Auston any time he reflects on of any of that. Auston is here, like he was always meant to be, dragging the team from last place to a possible fringe playoff team like it’s what he was made to do. He’s here and Mitch is here and they’re doing this together.





	Flowers Distilled

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Shakespeare's Sonnet V](http://www.shakespeare-online.com/sonnets/5.html)

When Mitch was younger, he couldn’t really grasp the concept of growing old. Once, he’d sat with his grandfather and they looked through old photo albums together.

“This is me and my father when I was your age,” he’d said, pointing to a grainy photo of a young boy and an older man stood outside in the snow, both in far from weather appropriate attire.

“You look like me,” the boy mused, his hand hovering over the picture.

His grandfather laughed. “No, Mitchell, _you_ look like _me._ ”

Mitch looked up at him, and tried to imagine that he would look like that someday. Older, sure, but with grey hair instead of the brown hue it had started to grow into as he aged out of the baby blond, with wrinkles around his eyes and sharpened features instead of the chubby cheeks his grandmother was so fond of pinching.

He couldn’t. Just as well, he couldn’t imagine his grandfather as that little boy in the picture, one with dark hair and chubby cheeks and a smile full of teeth that were all real.

Time just seemed so impossible.

Hockey never felt impossible. The burn of cold air in his lungs, the feeling of ice under his feet, a stick in his hands, the elation of a win, the determination that comes with defeat: these are the things that ran through his veins since the first time he stepped onto ice with his father. These are the things that made Mitch, well, Mitch.

The only part of getting older that he cared about was getting into the NHL - because he would, he would, he would, _he would_ and no one could tell him otherwise. He paraded around the playground at school with his Maple Leafs jersey on and a promise to play for the team on the tip of his tongue. Mitch is hockey, and Mitch is Toronto.

The thing about time passing is you really don’t seem to notice it. It goes and it goes and it isn’t until you look back that you see how far you’ve come.

Mitch stands on stage, pulls a Toronto Maple Leafs jersey over his head, and smiles wider than he thought he ever would. Going fourth overall never felt so good, he thinks. He sits through interview after interview, and he’s eighteen, wearing a jersey with his name on it. He’s eight, wearing a jersey that’s too big, playing in the snow and promising the world he’d be right where he sits now.

He looks at the pictures framed on the walls in his house back home, of a younger version of himself full of hopes, dreaming of making it to this point. _You get there_ , he promises a photograph of him stood on his front porch with his older brother, the pair holding a Leafs flag.

He plays for the Knights again that year, but it’s okay. He’s a Leaf, and he’ll get his chance. He works as hard as he can, and as the Knights do better and better, as _he_ does better and better, he watches the Leafs struggle. It’s hard, knowing he can’t help, so he pushes himself harder, promises himself he’ll be on ice with them next year.

They win the OHL Championship, and Mitch is awarded the title of playoff MVP.

The Leafs finish dead last.

He promises himself he’s going to make a difference for them. He will.

He watches the draft, and he cheers with the rest of his family when the Leafs choose their first overall pick. As Auston Matthews pulls on a blue jersey, Mitch grins. They’re going to make things happen for their team. He knows it.

He goes through his summer with that in mind. He’s going to make it into the NHL this year, for himself, for the Leafs. He’s going to make it, he’s going to play with Auston, because he’s gotten this far and there’s nothing and no one that can get in his way.

He does it, he makes it through camp, and he’s on the roster, and he passes the nine games and it’s _real_ . It’s real and he’s actually properly playing for this team, _his_ team, and Auston is there. Auston, who scored four goals in his NHL debut because that’s a thing people do - not. Auston who takes the responsibility that’s placed on his shoulders by an entire city - an entire franchise - and bears it with no problem.

Auston, who becomes the heart and soul of the team so, _so_ quickly.

It’s a lot.

They end up becoming fast friends, which shouldn’t really surprise anyone - Mitch is just a friendly dude, you know? If he can befriend _Dylan Strome_ , then he can make anyone like him. That’s part of his charm, or whatever. Mostly he likes Auston, and Auston likes him, and they make a great pair. It’s picked up on pretty much immediately by more or less everyone, but he doesn’t mind it. They’re buds, and while the team struggles at times, they’re defying expectations and tearing it up out there.

The Leafs are becoming what he always knew they could be, and he’s a key component of it.

It’s kind of crazy to think about, sometimes, but this is where he was meant to be. He knows it. He knows it as he sings along to Bon Jovi loudly at Auston on the bench, and he acts like he’s reluctant in joining in. Mitch knows he isn’t, but it’s okay. The cameras were on them and they look like a pair of idiots, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. That’s just how they are.

It’s fun. Hockey has always been fun, and hockey with Auston is probably the best hockey he’s ever played.

He starts to realise he may or may not have a problem around the holidays, because, like, everything about where he is now has been his dream for pretty much forever - the NHL, the _Toronto Maple Leafs_ specifically, his hometown team finally finding moderate success again - all of it, but all he can think about is Auston any time he reflects on any of that. Auston is here, like he was always meant to be, dragging the team from last place to a possible fringe playoff team like it’s what he was made to do. He’s here and Mitch is here and they’re doing this together.

Never when he was younger did he imagine a teammate as important to him and the team as Auston is, but now he can’t see how he didn’t. _This_ is how it should be. How he knew it would be the moment he saw Auston in Leafs’ blue.

Maybe he’s overwhelmed more often than not when he’s around his friend, but that’s totally normal, right? Like, maybe _Mitch_ hasn’t had that kind of problem before, but he does remember Dylan talking about how he always got that way around-

Turns out he most definitely does have a problem, then. That’s. Alright, this is fine, he can totally contain himself, you know? He’s got this. Like, he made it to the NHL at nineteen, if he can do that he can definitely smash down some stupid feelings for his best friend. Easy. Simple.

Or he could kiss him at midnight on New Years, when both of them were still mostly sober - too far away from properly drunk that it can be blamed on that - because of the game they’d play later that day, because that is most definitely the best way to avoid feelings. That really helps a lot, obviously. Great call, Mitchy.

It’s fine, though, because neither of them bring it up, and they play the Centennial Classic hours later and it’s really the full realization that all of his dreams - well, not all, but the that last goal might be a couple years off - are actually properly coming true. Stepping onto the ice, playing an outdoor game, honouring the hundredth year of the league and the history of his childhood team, it’s all everything he could have ever wanted. He even nets one, he gets a fucking _goal_ in one of the biggest - on a personal level, of course - games he’s ever played in. Auston does too.

They’re up 4-1 and there’s not that much time left and-

The Red Wings tie it in the dying seconds.

It hurts, like, fucking _bad_ that they’ve done this _again_. _Today_. It lights a fire in his chest and he can see it in his teammates, too, can see the flames flickering in all of their eyes.

And in this game, this game that means so much to him, it’s Auston that scores the game winner in OT. Because of course it was.

Because Auston is a part of his dream, whether he’d meant for that or not.

He tells him that, later, after the game when they’d all been celebrating and he was just the right kind of warm and fuzzy tipsy.

Auston kisses him again and it’s kind of the best thing in the world, probably.

They don’t officially work out their shit and start technically dating until after the game against the Capitals two days later, stamping the label onto themselves but agreeing to maybe forego telling anyone just yet. They do decide, though, that while it’s _technically_ not the day they got together or anything, they’d just say they started dating on the first.

It’s when it all came to a head, anyway. So it counts. Sue them.

The season progresses, time keeps on chugging along and before Mitch can even blink it seems, they’ve beat the Penguins, and they’ve done it. They’re going to the playoffs.

The season doesn’t end the way they wanted it to, but they fought tooth and nail and gave Washington a real, honest to god run for their money despite the miniscule expectations everyone had of them.

And just like that, his first season is in the books.

Mitch takes Auston to his parents’ house before he leaves to go back to Arizona, and he takes his hand and shows him the picture that’s still hanging on the same place on his wall.

“I wish I could show that version of me where I am right now.”

“Aren’t you still that version of you?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Would you really tell younger you everything?”

He looks at Auston, and he just really loves him, and his chest is warm with the feeling. “I think I’d keep you a surprise.”

He gets to play for his country in Worlds, and frankly, it feels like everything is going so right for him this year. The weight of the Hockey Canada logo weighs heavy on his chest, and it feels like a blessing, nothing like the burden a weight on one’s chest can be.

Nothing like the weight of a silver medal, hanging cold around his neck.

Dylan texts him, sympathetic, having had that feeling twice this season. It hurts, but he still has that experience under his belt. Big things are happening, and he can tell things will only look up from here.

So he looks forward to the upcoming season.

Mitch misses Auston in the offseason, like, a whole fucking lot. Especially after losing the distraction of Worlds. Going from seeing each other every day to being what feels like worlds apart really, really fucking sucks. They’re fine, of course. They talk nearly every day and he still very much so loves Auston, and Auston still very much so loves him, and it’s good.

At the end of June, Auston calls him to tell him he’ll be flying in to spend some time with him because of their six month, and Mitch has probably never been more excited for anything in his life. That’s not true, objectively, but whatever. He’s really, _really_ excited.

He feels like he might explode the entire way to the airport, grinning down at his phone when he walks in and gets the _‘landed’_ text. The fifteen minutes before Auston appears at last feel like an eternity, but he’s there, so the wait was worth it, minutes or hours or years, doesn’t matter.

Mitch pulls Auston into a tight hug, muttering “I missed you so much” into his shoulder.

Auston returns the hug for a moment before pulling away - right, they’re in public in Toronto - and smiles, teasing, “how could you miss me when you texted me everyday?”

He feigns offense, gasping before punching him in the shoulder, “shut up, you know you missed me too.”

“I guess I might have missed you a _little_.”

Mitch rolls his eyes and pulls his Blue Jays hat a little further over his face, hoping the two of them could get out of the airport relatively unnoticed so they could just get back to his apartment.

A small child in a Leafs hoodie cautiously walks up to them, pausing to stand at Auston’s feet.

“S’cuse me, are you Auston Matthews?”

Mitch just pulls his hat down lower and leaves the scene - and Auston - as people start to notice him. Again. He’ll _definitely_ hear about it later, but he’s okay with that, really. It makes for a funny story each time. Happy almost-anniversary, Auston, I’ll just be over here.

Luckily he only has to wait outside for close to ten minutes for Auston to finally emerge.

“Are you ever not going to do that?”

“Honestly? Probably not. Besides, you didn’t miss me anyway, what’s another ten minutes?” His tongue pokes out from between his teeth as he tried not to laugh as his boyfriend just shakes his head at him.

Texting and Skype had only done so much for him over the past few months, and it just feels really nice to have Auston physically next to him again - to have him in the car, singing loudly and horribly off-key as they drive. It’s normal. It’s _them_. It’s them and it feels like it’s the way it’s supposed to be, like, they’re hockey players, and that’s what they’ll be known for, but this is who they _are_ and who they’re meant to be.

Or something like that. Who knows, he missed his boyfriend and he’s feeling sentimental. It happens. The time they’d spent apart feels like it’s fading away as the distance to Mitch’s apartment shortens, though, like it’s being washed away, left behind them somewhere between here and the airport.

When the Auston Matthews rap comes on, he tries to sing along through his laughter. Auston tries to look unimpressed, but he’s smiling right back at Mitch, and it’s good.

The moment the apartment door shuts behind them, he’s being pulled in for a soft kiss, and he _really_ missed this. Auston presses their foreheads together when he pulls away. “Happy six month.”

“It’s not until tomorrow, Matts,” Mitch grins, closing the short difference between their mouths for another quick kiss.

“I know, I know.”

Mitch leans back and wraps his arms around Auston’s waist. “So. What game am I going to kick your ass in today?”

“You’re not winning today, I’ve been practicing.”

“I know, against me,” he laughs.

After going through two pizzas that definitely weren’t in their summer diet plans and several games of NHL, it’s decided that they should probably get some rest. Mitch is well aware that, despite how often they’re on planes, flights never get less tiring.

Besides, he’d been too excited to get much sleep the night before, anyway.

The two move around each other effortlessly as they go through their nightly routines, used to it despite the months away from each other. He missed this.

Mitch walks into his room after brushing his teeth and launches himself onto the bed, nearly landing on top of Auston. He wiggles until he’s pressed up against his side, resting his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“I’m really happy you’re here.”

Auston puts an arm around him and smiles, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Me too.”

He lets himself just appreciate the warmth of being together again, both the physical warmth of having another person next to him and the metaphorical warmth that he swears he can also physically feel every time he looks at Auston, and doesn’t say anything more. The silence lets his mind wander, and he thinks once again about how his younger self wouldn’t have imagined ever having this, and that makes him suddenly remember that day with his grandfather all those years ago.

Mitch lifts his head and rolls over so he’s half on top of Auston, his chin resting on his chest.

“We’re going to get really old. Do you ever think about that?”

He stares at him for a moment before offering a small smile, resting his hand on Mitch’s back. He slowly moves it in small, gentle circles, and the comfort it provides makes Mitch nearly melt.

“No, not really, why?”

Mitch hums and shrugs a little, letting his head fall to the side so his cheek was pressed against Auston’s chest again. “Well, I don’t know. I just- when I was younger, I remember looking at old pictures with my grandfather and stuff, y’know? And it was weird, because he was a kid at some point, and I’m going to be really old one day.”

“Yeah, Marns, that’s how time works.”

“Shut up,” he laughs, reaching up to flick Auston’s ear. “We’re going to get old, and we’re not going to be able to play hockey anymore. It’s, like, really fuckin’ weird to think about. Hockey’s been everything since forever.”

Auston nods, but says nothing.

Mitch leans up and presses a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I wonder if you’re going to go bald. I’d really miss your hair.”

He laughs and gently runs a thumb across Mitch’s cheekbone. “You’re one to talk. You’re going to have so many wrinkles, Mr. Laugh Lines.”

“Hey, at least I’ll look old because I had fun, not because my head is shiny.”

“We don’t even know that I’ll lose my hair.”

“But you _could_.”

Auston shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “I guess I _could_.”

Mitch moves to press his face into the crook of Auston’s neck and mutters, “man, we’re going to look so fucking gross. Time is shit.”

“It is.”

“Do you think we can get Marty to fight it for us?”

“You want him to fight... the concept of time?”

“He’d do it if I asked,” he shrugs.

The pair fall silent, and the rise and fall of his boyfriend’s chest start to lull Mitch to sleep. He closes his eyes, and, drifting off, tries to picture what the two would look like in twenty years time. What they’d look like in fifty.

Just as he starts to finally doze, Auston runs a hand through his hair, speaking quietly. “Mitch?”

“Mmm.”

“No matter how old and gross we get, you’re still gonna be perfect to me.”

What was supposed to be “even with my wrinkles?” probably sounded nothing like it, the words slurring together with exhaustion.

Auston must get the gist, though, because he chuckles softly. “Yes, Marns, wrinkles and all.”

Mitch just hums again, a warm smile on his face.

As long as he has these memories - the soft and sleepy nights in, the light-hearted chirping when they play video games, the electric buzz when they’re on ice doing what they love, the comfort they find in each other after losses - it really doesn’t matter how awful they may end up looking. Time can take its toll on them in every way it wants it, but everything he has now he’ll carry forever, and everything he has now is really everything he needs.

They’re young, and so is the relationship, and he knows it’s probably naive to think they’re going to last that long. He doesn’t care one bit.

He is eight, determined to be a Leaf.

He is eighteen, on a stage, drafted fourth overall to Toronto.

He is nineteen, determined to never let go of Auston Matthews.

He is fifty-nine, and he hands his sleepy husband a cup of coffee the moment he enters their kitchen - the same way he has for forty odd years.

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first hockey fic I ever started writing (circa march of last year) and I didn't get very far in it before abandoning it completely but I really felt like I should revisit it so here we are, I guess. and it isn't? a rarepair? who am I now
> 
> as always, thanks for reading and I hope you liked it!
> 
> catch me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/alcoholnregret) and [tumblr](http://www.sidnate.tumblr.com)


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